


Please Let Me Get What I Want

by Das_verlorene_Kind



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Kidfic, M/M, There's a puppy, bottom!patrick, dad Patrick, happy end, tacky christmas sweaters, they're a happy family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 16:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17125079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Das_verlorene_Kind/pseuds/Das_verlorene_Kind
Summary: All Patrick wanted was a quiet, cozy holiday with Pete and their three kids. White snow, homemade food, and tacky sweaters, the picture-perfect winter wonderland - is that too much to ask?But Patrick's dream of a perfect family Christmas holidays are soon shattered when a tiny puppy finds its way on to their holiday home...





	Please Let Me Get What I Want

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, everyone! This is my contribution to this years' Merry Little Peterick. Fun, fluff, a hint of angst, and some smut - what more can you ask for?  
> While I use this AU sometimes, it's mostly for smut... Basically, it's my Happy Family AU were Pete and Patrick got happily married, have three children, and one day I'll get to tell even more tales about them! Well, have this little snippet for now. 
> 
> No puppies were harmed while writing this fic.  
> All art done by me. More rambling in the end notes. Thanks to Snitches for beta reading!
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Christmas this year is supposed to be special.

The band may not be at the height of their popularity anymore, but that doesn't mean they aren't busy. Not this year though, oh no. This year, the band aren't on the road, there are no tours, no promo events, and nothing clogging up their schedule around the holidays. This year, Pete and Patrick decided they all needed a real vacation.

Not only because of the free time.

No, also because last year’s Christmas was less than stellar. With sadness and a sigh, Patrick remembers how their oldest and last remaining dog was painfully absent. The poor dude had been sick for a while, a terminal diagnosis that despite his age and his long and prosperous life hadn’t been any easier to swallow. So, what Pete, Patrick and their kids remember from the holidays is having to come to terms with the loss of a beloved pet and, for the first time in almost two decades, not having some happy tail-wagging accompany Christmas.

This year, Patrick wants a quiet, happy holiday season for his family somewhere away from stress and sadness and potentially bad memories, which is why he’s sitting in the driver’s seat in the 21st of December now, next to Pete, on the road to June Mountain. They decided on going somewhere quiet, with snow and a beautiful view and Patrick even agreed to wear all the ugly Christmas sweater Pete has bought over the years.

 

They‘ve loaded the kids and their never-ending amount of luggage into the car – a sensible Honda Odyssey with lots or storage room, no more rock and roll chic – and have been following the directions of Google maps more or less successfully.

It’s a 5 ½ hour drive up from LA to June Mountain, crammed into the trusty family car with all their luggage, three kids, and a nervous Pete. After decades spent on the road Patrick can’t say it’s the worst trip he’s ever had, but it doesn't get easier over time either. David, their thirteen-year old, is staring out of the window, brows furrowed, headphones shoved into his ears, no doubt blasting the Linkin Park equivalent of his generation. At least he’s quiet, unlike 6-year old Marley and 10-year old Lilly who are both way too nervous and excited to sit still. Being kids, they also have no concept of time, which is why Patrick has to explain every 15 minutes that no, they’re still not there and no, they couldn’t just take a plane and no, daddy can’t look now, daddy is driving. It doesn't help that Marley has inherited Pete’s carsickness, causing Patrick to tense up every time he hears the kid cough or retch on the backseat. Pete is trying his best to keep the small ones entertained, and they’ve downloaded an audiobook to listen to, but after all these hours of teen angst, noisy kids, a nervous husband and four barf-bags, Patrick is really, really ready for this damn vacation.

The homeowner, a woman in her 50s who looks like she should be renting out books in a library rather than expensive vacation homes, is already awaiting them. She smiles politely, gives them a tour of the house and hands over the flyers of nearby attractions and ski tracks, all while the kids run around, tired and hyperactive at the same time. Patrick takes the keys, manages to smile back, and is very relieved when she finally leaves. He doesn't even have the patience or mental capacity to enjoy the cozy little vacation house right now because all he can think of is sleep and that sweet, sweet king-sized bed in the master bedroom. They wrestle the hyperactive kids into bed – or at least, their respective rooms – and Patrick falls into bed completely exhausted, muscles sore from being crammed into a car for hours (never gets easier over the years) hoping the kids will let him sleep in in peace.

 

Next morning, the world looks brighter already.

 There used to be a time B.C. — before children — when Patrick wouldn’t have gotten up before noon. Now, he’s glad that he wakes up at half past eight in the morning, his sleep rhythm dictated by school schedules which usually sees him up way earlier. Ah, and with joy, Patrick notices the absence of an alarm clock; there’s just sweet, blissful silence as he lazily stretches his limbs, the first daylight peeking through the closed curtains, promising sunshine and blinding-white snow.

Out of routine, Patrick reaches next to him, happy to find the well-known body of his husband. Pete’s sleep schedule has gotten a lot better, but it’s still troublesome, there are still sleepless nights and restless hours and Patrick’s glad that the car ride hasn’t left Pete pacing the house all night.

“Mmm, look who’s up,” Pete whispers with a chuckle, reaches for Patrick’s hand to squeeze it. “Sleep well?”

Patrick makes a vaguely affirmative sound as he slides closer to Pete, drags Pete’s arm over his waist until Pete gets it, and spoons him.

“’m good,” Patrick rasps, voice still heavy with sleep, “’nd you? Slept a little, I hope?”

“Slept fine, actually. I’m all rested and ready for the day,” Pete says with a hint of mischief in his voice; Patrick can practically hear the grin on Pete’s face, and that thing poking the small of his back is no doubt Pete’s well-rested, already hard dick.

 

“What about the kids?” Patrick says in a half-hearted attempt to be a reasonable adult.

 

“They’re fine,” Pete replies, lips brushing over Patrick’s neck, “they figured out how to run Netflix on the TV, and they found the leftover snacks from yesterday. Possibly some Christmas sweets, too.”

 

Well, the kids are fed and entertained, maybe not in the best way possible but damn it, Patrick is on vacation. “You don’t need to do anything,” Pete hums into his ear, “just relax and let me take care of you. I got everything ready, and the door is locked...”

 Usually, Patrick doesn't really like to get pampered, but they’re on vacation, it’s the holidays, he’s warm and cozy and Pete’s all cuddled up to him, trailing soft kisses from Patrick’s ear down his throat… What’s the harm in getting spoiled a little?

 “Go ahead then,” Patrick whispers in response, head thrown back to give Pete easier access for more kisses, his hand guiding Pete’s towards his crotch. Pete strokes him into full hardness with swift, sensual movements as they continue to make out.

 

Pete takes all the time it needs to get Patrick ready, and all the time it needs to drive him onto the edge of desperation. Two lube-slick fingers have already worked their way into Patrick, scissoring him open, when Pete whispers: “Can I bareback you...?”

“Sure,” Patrick groans back, “but you’re not coming inside of me. We still have a full day ahead of us, and I – ah, I don’t wanna spend it sore and leaking...”

Pete pouts, contemplates the offer. “What if I use a condom?”

That would eliminate the problem, so Patrick shrugs, smiles at him. “You can do whatever then, as long as you clean it up afterwards.”

“Fair enough.” With that, Pete slides his fingers out of Patrick, sits up to reach for the nightstand. Patrick hears him tear the silver foil, and from the corner of his eye, he can see how Pete spreads more lube over his now condom-clad erection. Sensible decision in Patrick’s eyes, and it doesn't matter if he tops or bottoms, he’s never much liked the abrupt pulling out right when what he really wants is to be as close to Pete as possible.

 

When he’s done, Pete lies down behind him again, one hand on Patrick’s thigh, a gentle inquiry. Patrick arches his back a little, lifts his leg, resting it comfortably in Pete’s strong grip. Slowly, Pete pushes in, biting a bruise into the curve of Patrick’s neck just low enough so it’ll be hidden by his shirt, while Patrick is breathing hard, trying not to shy away from the hard dick sliding into him. Once he’s bottomed out, Pete stills, giving Patrick time to adjust. It takes a moment and a bit of trial and error to find the perfect position for their two bodies, but eventually, everything falls into place, and the initial slight pain makes way for pleasure. Patrick turns his head to get Pete to kiss him, and to signal Pete that he’s ready for him to move.

It’s weird at first, it always is, feeling so _full_ with the drag of Pete’s dick inside of him, with that low burn in his belly and his own aching hard-on yearning to be touched. Patrick slides his hand down, traces over where their bodies are connected, where he’s wet and stretched open to accommodate Pete’s cock. It makes him shiver, makes him yearn for more.

Patrick slides his hand up to meet Pete’s gripping into his thigh. “Let go,” Patrick mumbles; Pete does, and Patrick lowers his leg down to the mattress until both his knees are pressed together.

 

Behind him, Pete sucks in a sharp breath. “Damn, Patrick,” he groans as his hands dig into Patrick’s hips, “fuck, baby, you’re so fucking tight...”

 

“C’mon, just fuck me,” Patrick replies breathlessly, shaking a little at the intensity, “but – be careful...”

 

“Shh, don’t worry,” Pete whispers in between two kisses, “told you I’d take care of you. Just… Just enjoy yourself...”

 

Pete throws his leg over Patrick’s, splays his hand over his chest. After a few tries, Pete finds the right angle again, his dick slamming into Patrick’s prostate with each fervent, hungry thrust of his hip. Everything feels more intense, closer, harder, Pete’s dick stretching him open in the most delicious, delirious way possible. Patrick can hear him moan softly against his throat, lips brushing over the flutter of his pulse; Pete’s hand wanders down his chest, over his stomach, down to Patrick’s hard cock, throbbing with the need to be touched.

Oh, Pete’s keeping his promise, he’s determined to please, so Patrick closes his eyes, tips his head back and loses himself in the moment. Every thrust makes Patrick want to cry out with lust, every stroke makes him want to fuck harder into Pete’s fist. He’s so close, every nerve of his body tight-strung, every inch of skin burning under Pete’s touches, and he’s edging closer with every time that Pete’s dick hits that sweet spot inside of him in maddening, brilliant ways.

When Patrick finally comes, all the lust and sweet release pulses through his body as cascades of colors and glittering snow before his inner eye; Pete fucks him through it, pushes harder into Patrick as he chases his own orgasm. It’s tight, it’s intense, it’s the best way possible to start off this well-deserved vacation.

 

The afterglow wears off slowly, leaving Patrick warm and sated in his husband’s arms. If it were possible, he’d stay there forever (or at least the whole day), but there are kids to feed and a vacation to be had, two arguments that eventually let Patrick sit up as he announces with a groan: “Dibs on the shower.”

With a sweet laugh, Pete untangles from him, snatches one last kiss from him before Patrick stumbles over to the bathroom.

 

Shaved, showered, and dressed in a tacky Christmas sweater – he promised Pete, after all – Patrick emerges from the bedroom to look for their kids. He can hear the TV, so he heads for the living room, only to find that the screen is playing to an empty room. The veranda door is open, letting in cold air, and the kids are nowhere to be seen.

Icy fear drips down into Patrick’s chest as the first horrific visions play before his inner eye, of kids lost among endless snow, of white vans, of other unnamed bad things. He storms outside, in his silly sweater and sweatpants, with nothing but his socks on his feet, which are immediately soaked with cold snow. There, in the blinding brightness of this winter wonderland, just at the edge of the property and dangerously close to the trees that mark the entrance to the seemingly never-ending woods, are his three kids, unharmed and in no apparent danger. In no time, Patrick goes from panic to anger; they’re all wearing their pajamas under their coats, completely inappropriate for the weather, and seem to share none of his concerns about the cold weather or any other danger.

David notices him first, his angsty teen attitude now traded for all the excitement he was lacking yesterday. “Yo,” he yells louder than necessary and Patrick is happy they have no nearby neighbors, “look what we found!”

 

“Daddy!” Lilly waves at him, all red cheeks and big blue eyes, “daddy, we found a puppy!”

 

Yes, Patrick is definitely furious now.

 

“Get inside,” he hears himself yell, the echo of his anger lost in the dulling snow, “get inside, all of you. Now!”

 

“But the puppy!” Marley pleads; he’s shivering already, his brown curls wet with freshly-fallen snow, as if he’s begging to get a cold.

 

“Just get inside!”

 

While the three kids trot inside, Patrick rushes over to inspect if what they told was true. Near the trees, all he finds is lots of messy snow, and the distinct footprints of various sized boots owned by David, Lilly, and Marley. No puppy. Are there wolves in the area? Patrick doesn’t know whether to laugh, scream, or be scared.

Back in the house, he finds that the three went inside without taking off their shoes, dragging mud and melting snow into the formerly pristine living room. Again, Patrick doesn’t know which emotional reaction to have first.

“There was a puppy!” David says defensively, with all the passive-aggressiveness he can muster. “You have to believe us!”

“Get your shoes off,” is all Patrick answers as he fetches a towel from the guest bathroom to place the wet, snow-soaked shoes onto. David pulls a face, but helps Marley – who’s too intimidated to protest – out of his boots and jacket.

Meanwhile, Lilly demonstrates that she has inherited more from Patrick than just his blue eyes; she presses her lips together, stomps her foot, and stubbornly insists: “There was a puppy!”

“I didn’t see anything,” Patrick gives back annoyed as he tries to hang Marley’s coat over the tiny heater, “and besides -”

The lecture about clothes and coldness is interrupted by Lilly stomping her foot again, a lovely mini-impression of Patrick’s own temper now reflected on her usually cute little face, now red with anger. “There was a puppy!” She screams, frustration about her father’s disbelief almost driving her to tears. “There was a puppy, we saw it! We saw the puppy, daddy!”

 

Thankfully, Pete enters the living room now, brows raised as he takes in the mess of screaming children, dirty clothes, and an annoyed husband. “Hey, what’s happening here?”

“We leave these kids alone for ten minutes, and they run around in the snow in their pajamas, chasing puppies!” Patrick answers rather aggressively while he wrestles Lilly’s coat off of her, which is difficult given that she’s crossing her arms in childish resistance.

“I saw it,” David now repeats, equally angry at Patrick’s disbelief, “it was small and had dark fur and these weird, blue eyes! Why don’t you believe us?!” Oh, Patrick misses those glorious five seconds of David not being overdramatic already.

Pete scratches his head, then sighs. “It may have belonged to someone else,” he offers as an explanation, ignoring how Patrick subtly shakes his head, “you can’t just go out in the cold to play with someone else’s dog.”

Lilly perks up again, finally uncrosses her arms and shrugs off her coat as she states in triumph: “But it didn’t have a collar!”

“Are you sure?” Patrick asks with what little patience he can muster. Lilly and David don’t cave under his inquiring gaze, but Marley, sweet little boy that he his, caves in and shyly shakes his head.

 

“Maybe it’s a wolf?” Lilly argues, as if this were to make things any better.

 

“There are no wolves around Mount June,” Patrick says, because he’s already done a quick panic-induced google search.

 

“See? I’m sure the dog was out with its owner, and got sidetracked a little. No wonder when three cute kids are trying to play with it!” Pete pats David’s back, only to get a scoff in reply and something that sounds like a muttered _bullshit_. Lilly doesn’t seem to agree either, but unlike David, she hasn’t spend the first twelve years of her life in various bad foster families, so her anger just manifests in a big pout and silence.

Pete ushers the kids back into their rooms, hopefully to get them dressed so they can go out for grocery shopping and a day of holiday fun. Patrick sighs as he looks around; it’s the morning of the first day and already, the floor is dirty, there’s something that looks like a fresh chocolate stain on the couch, there’s junk food packaging littered all over the table and every surface is covered in coats, jackets, socks, and shoes. And to think the day started off so well.

Patrick tells himself that at least, the place already feels like home.

 

Over the course of the day, the kids slowly seem to forget the supposed puppy. After the boring part of stocking up on groceries, they spend a day at the snowy mountains, the wonders of nature overshadowing this morning’s events. Pete and David have signed up for ski classes, while Patrick happily stays with Lilly and Marley, both thankfully sharing his lack of enthusiasm in dangerous sports. They’re dressed in warm snow suits, unrecognizable behind all the thick layers of fabric and ski goggles; Patrick relaxes, as much as he can when he has two kids trying to slide down the snow in increasingly creative ways. He has his Polaroid with him, tries to take a few snaps of laughing children and the snowy landscape, both with various levels of success.

But there’s no broken bones, just a few tears, there’s lots of hot chocolate and all around happiness and Patrick thinks this might be a good sign.

 

As oh so often in life, he’s proven painfully wrong.

 

The next morning, Patrick catches Marley with his nose pressed against the glass door leading to the garden, looking out for a puppy. There’s nothing to see but snow, and Patrick sends him off to the kitchen to get breakfast, and if he sees a flash of brown and blue from the corner of his eyes, it surely must be his imagination.

That delusion lasts until after breakfast; Patrick’s plan is to tire out the kids (and his husband) outside so that they can spend a nice, quiet evening in before the 24th and its trouble with preparing for Christmas comes along. He gets them up to the part where everyone is dressed to leave before Marley – who must’ve sneaked off the second neither of them was looking – screams from the living room: “He’s back! The puppy is back!”

Immediately, David grabs his phone and follows his sister into the living room. Patrick considers scolding, but he’s too curious himself, follows the kids to find Marley pressed against the snot-stained glass, his little hands leaving prints all over it. Pete, phone in hand as well, arrives at Patrick’s side as they stare outside. Patrick expects to see nothing.

Instead, he sees a tiny bundle of undefinable-colored fur; a patchwork of brown, black, and dirt with two bright-blue, piercing eyes.

 

“Holy shit,” Pete gasps, ignoring the elbow to his side from Patrick.

 

“I was right!” Lilly exclaims in utter triumph, “see, daddy? There really _is_ a puppy!”

 

As much as Patrick loves her, he wonders if it’s okay to temporarily dislike his own children for being so goddamn smug and righteous. That should be his god-given right as a parent, damn it.

All hell breaks loose now that there really seems to be a living, breathing puppy right in their snowy backyard. Everyone hurries to the door, tries to get out first as if the puppy might dissolve into thin air if not given immediate attention. Patrick follows, two steps behind, wary of the strange animal.

Something about it just looks off. While the puppy seems to be still young, too small to yet exhibit a lot of traits that its adult breed may hold, it’s still weird-looking already. The two big, piercing blue eyes immediately remind Patrick of a Husky, but the rest of the tiny dog doesn’t match up to that. Its fur, too short for a Husky, is all over the place color-wise, with spots of every color mixed in.

 

“What is this?” Patrick whispers, too afraid he might scare the dog away.

 

“A wolf,” Lilly says snappily, ignoring how everyone shakes their head in disagreement.

 

“A puppy,” Marley says with pride as he takes a step forward, tries to get the dog to come closer. Patrick hauls him back, protectiveness kicking in.

 

“You can’t just touch an animal you don’t know,” Patrick says through gritted teeth as he shoves Marley behind him, “and could you all stop taking pictures?!”

 

“But he’s so cute!” David finally lowers his phone, the pout on his lips rivaling Lilly’s.

 

Meanwhile, Pete has gotten closer to the dog, as close as he can get without scaring it off. “I don’t see a collar,” he says thoughtfully, and Patrick can see the gears turning in his head. “I think the kids are right, it’s a boy. Maybe he got lost?”

Pete inches a little closer, and encouraged by that, the kids try to do the same. That seems to be too much for the poor puppy, who yelps, turns around, and runs off as fast as its little legs can carry it.

“Daddy, you scared the wolf away!” Lilly pouts while Marley flees into Pete’s arms nonetheless, staring at the paw prints in the snow as if the dog might reappear.

 

“For the last time,” Patrick says with as much patience as he can muster, “there are no wolves here.”

 

David shrugs as he pats Lilly in the head. “It’s a good name though.”

 

Patrick wants to ask when and why this strange dog has gotten a name, but his objections are lost over the other voices of his kids and husband rushing back inside and contemplating on how to best get the puppy to come back.

 

“What kind of dog was it?” Patrick repeats his question later, once the day is behind them and he’s in bed with Pete. Every few minutes, one of the kids had run up to the big glass front, staring outside, but the dog hadn’t come back. It left them unsatisfied, and yet still excited with the firm hope that the strange puppy will show its face tomorrow morning again.

“No idea.” Pete has his head in Patrick’s lap, and is scrolling through various dog-related websites, tapping at his phone, the glasses he so rarely uses sitting on his nose for a change. Patrick pets Pete’s hair, watches Pete’s concentrated frown, the way his eyes crinkle, the chubbiness atop his formerly sharp cheekbones; sometimes, he can’t believe they made it all this way up til now, all these years, with two golden wedding rings and three children in their life.

“Hey, look! I think I found it!” Pete interrupts Patrick’s musings when he shoves his phone into Patrick’s face.

Patrick takes it, scrolls through the page containing a short article and various photos looking eerily similar to the dog outside their door. The article names it a Goberian, a breed between a Labrador and a Husky.

 

“Isn’t that the weirdest breed ever?”

 

“Fact is, it’s most likely a breed.” Patrick hands the phone back to Pete, pinches the bridge of his nose. “If this is a purebred, no doubt someone paid good money for him. It’s all regulated and I am sure we can call up the breeders and the local shelters and find its owner.”

 

Patrick gives the same speech to three very disappointed kids the next day.

“The owner?” Marley asks in a heartbreakingly innocent voice, “b-but he was all alone, why can’t we keep him?”

“I guess we can’t just keep someone else’ dog,” David says cautiously, then sighs overly loud and dramatic. The level of self-pity is only rivaled by Pete, who, despite being in his forties, has had the exact same hopes as his children.

“What if he doesn't have an owner?” Lilly crosses her arms as she argues with the grace and patience of a ten-year old. “Can we keep him then?”

 

“Lilly, dear, I am sure the puppy has an owner,” Patrick sighs, ruffling her soft blond hair, “so please don't get too attached to it. How would you feel if someone stole your dog?”

 

Lilly keeps her arms crossed, chin in the air, stubborn as always. “Well, I feel bad that we don’t have a puppy in the first place. I miss the dogs.”

 

“I miss dogs too,” David chimes in, and he taps Marley’s shoulder, who gets the hint, and nods fervently as he squeals: “I miss dogs, daddy!”

 

This is getting ridiculous. Patrick looks to Pete for help, but Pete just shrugs, holds his hands up in defeat and admits: “Hey, you know I’m with the kids on that.”

 

“That’s not what’s up for debate right now!” Patrick sends Pete an angry glare, then turns to the kids. “We’re not talking about getting a new dog. We’re talking about this little puppy in our backyard who ran away or got lost, and we need to find its owner. Is everyone with me here?”

 

There’s a few moment of tension, until David speaks up and says what everyone but Patrick is thinking: “Okay. But we should keep the dog if we don’t find its owner.”

 

Patrick apologizes internally to his own mom for every time he himself was such a stubborn little shit like his own kids. No one says anything, but it’s sort of clear that there are two fronts in this household now: Pete and the kids, and Patrick the mean puppy kicker.

All Patrick can hope for is to find the damn puppy’s owner.

 

Nothing. No one. Not a single person to be found who’s missing this specific breed of dog. Patrick has called up all the breeders – about a dozen, it’s really not a lot – with none of them missing a pup. He’s made Pete call every vet and every local dog shelter, to no avail. None of the dogs reported as missing fit the breed or even the vague description of that fur bundle from the forest.

It’s Christmas Eve, and Patrick has a very bad feeling in his stomach about this whole ordeal; what kind of person wouldn’t notify anyone about a missing dog?

He’s trying not to think about it. It has to be a mistake. Maybe the dog belongs to a fellow tourist who hasn’t called up any local shelters.

 

They keep the kids distracted with decorating the house, and Pete and David even drive out to get a tree all by themselves. Luckily, they come back with all their fingers and toes attached as well as with a tree that looks just perfect. While the kids put in every ornament they can find and taking turns in looking out the window in case the puppy comes back, Patrick almost wishes the dog would just return to wherever it belongs and not come back to them anymore. He’s starting to care, and this isn’t what Patrick envisioned for his Christmas to be, another fear-ridden, helpless disaster over a dog that may be too far gone for saving. He wants the puppy to be happy, but Patrick is rather sure he’s not the one who can offer some scared stray dog with god knows what kind of diseases and trauma a good home. So he hopes the problem solves itself, hopes the dog gets picked up again by its loving, caring owners and it’s just gonna be a funny little story to tell to friends and relatives.

Patrick has gotten out his battered Polaroid again, the gift from Pete that’s still cherished, and takes a few more family-friendly pictures throughout the day. He leaves any obligatory social media shots to Pete.

About a dozen cute polaroid pictures of his beautiful husband, their cute kids, the pretty décor, now this is what he wanted from Christmas.

 

Of course, Santa deliberately ignores his other wishes.

 

The morning of the 25th is like every other Christmas with kids – it’s full of shouting and screaming way too early in the morning as the kids tear through the gifts under the tree. There was a time when their parents pretended to have a little civility and insist on breakfast before opening gifts, but after a decade of Christmas with kids, they’ve given up. Patrick just groans, turns over to hug his husband, wonders if the kids are maybe busy enough with their gifts to allow for some Christmas blowjobs.

That wish is shattered just a moment later when Marley runs into the bedroom, demanding help with his Lego Star Wars set and urging his dads to get out of bed, so they can see what he got them for Christmas. Right now, Patrick would really like for his present to be some sleep, but that’s not what he can tell his excited little boy who’s obviously eager to show off what he came up with.

Everyone is wearing one of the terribly tacky Christmas sweaters that Pete insisted the family has to wear, it’s a mess of colors and patterns and illuminated reindeer and trees (the internet assures Patrick these sweaters are indeed non-flammable). It makes for some more cute Polaroids though, before Marley comes back with a badly-wrapped gift in his little hands. Pete and Patrick unpack it together, and the wrapping paper reveals a picture frame – no doubt hand-painted and decorated by Marley – with a portrait of the family, also handmade by their son.

 

“I did this all myself,” Marley explains proudly while Patrick can’t help but wipe a little tear of joy away, “I drew us all, look! Daddys, Lilly, David, and me!”

 

“It’s perfect,” Pete assures his youngest while hugging him tightly.

 

“It still has room for a dog,” David points out, which almost makes Patrick roll his eyes. He won’t have this perfect moment of parenthood ruined.

 

But of course, this perfect moment has to be ruined when Lilly jumps up, runs to the glass door, squealing: “Look! Wolf came back!”

 

In an instant, everyone’s attention is drawn to the winter wonderland outside – not the beautiful snowy landscape, but that tiny little dog that found its way onto their veranda again. Ears and tail perked up, it looks a little insecure, but doesn’t storm off again no matter Lilly’s excited shouting or David’s hectic movements as he runs outside to greet the puppy first.

“Be careful!” Patrick shouts after him in a fruitless attempt of parenting. Really, he doesn’t need to spend his Christmas in and ER with crying kids and bite wounds or worse. No one else seems to share that worry though.

 

Marley shyly tugs on Pete’s sleeve. “Can I give the puppy a present, too?”

 

“Awww,” Pete hugs his son, kisses his soft brown curls. “You got something for the doggie, too?”

 

“What sort of present?” Patrick asks warily.

 

Marley rummages through his backpack, then holds up a box of dog treats. “I bought it when we went grocery shopping!” He explains proudly. He’s even put some of the glitter stickers on it. Patrick’s heart melts, how can he say no?

 

It’s probably not a good idea to let his six-year old give a potentially feral little dog treats, the dog shouldn’t learn that he’s getting food here – especially considering that the next owners might not be as friendly – and there’s a million other objections that Patrick puts aside as he nods softly. He gets a happy grin from Marley, mirrored on Pete’s face, before the two of them get up to grab their shoes and coats as well. Patrick stays behind in a mess of wrapping paper and cartons, sighs to himself as he watches the rest of his family try to engage with that strange, potentially diseased, potentially maladjusted stray dog.

Unsurprisingly, on the morning of the 26th, they all wake up to said stray dog laying in front of the glass door, curled up in the snow, waiting for the inhabitants to wake up and notice it. Same on the 27th, and the 28th. Its lost some of his shyness, and Patrick keeps praying they won’t all end up with fleas or lice or any other disease the dog might carry.

No one seems to miss the dog, there’s still no one looking for it anywhere, be it the local shelters, vets, Facebook, or breeders.

“Maybe it’s an abandoned Christmas present,” Pete says thoughtfully as they all stand outside, the kids busy with throwing the dogs the leftover treats. It’s so damn cold outside, but of course, they aren’t bothered by that at all. Patrick shivers, leans closer to Pete who wraps an arm around his waist, shares his scarf with him.

 

“It wasn’t even Christmas before the dog showed up,” Patrick tries to argue as he rubs his hands together.

 

Pete shrugs. “Or maybe the owner went on vacation and just didn't want to bother. Like people do in the summer holidays, y’know. Why else is no one looking for him?”

 

Patrick sighs; he knows when he’s defeated. “Fine,” he admits slowly, “maybe it doesn’t have an owner. That only means we need to be more careful – it hasn’t been trained, may not be used to humans, may have lice or fleas or other germs because it may not have been vaccinated.”

 

Pete pouts. “You’re always assuming the worst.”

 

“I’m trying to look out for our children,” Patrick says through gritted teeth, “I don’t want them to get hurt or sick. Are you with me on that?”

 

Pete may nod, but he still makes Patrick give the “that puppy might be dangerous” speech to three very unhappy children.

“It looks fine,” Lilly says with a pout.

“It didn’t try to bite anyone,” David says with all the passive-aggressive teen anger he can manage.

“He’s a nice dog,” Marley says with big, teary eyes, “he wants to be petted! He is all alone!”

“Look, the dog may not have been exposed to humans all that much,” Patrick tries to explain with dwindling patience, “maybe it’s nice _now_ , but we don’t know if he won’t overreact or try to bite or harm you. So from now on, everyone is careful, no one tries to pick up the dog, and there’s no touching or petting it, okay?”

“But Wolf, he’s like me!” David puts a hand to his chest, lip quivering. “He’s all alone and lost and scared! He’s like, my spirit animal!”

Patrick sighs, while Pete pats their son on his back, assures him he’s neither lost nor alone anymore. David doesn't reply, just storms off into his room, followed by his equally angry siblings.

 

 

This is all such a mess, and Patrick loses his last bit of patience when he looks over to Pete, who just shrugs. “Goddamn it,” Patrick is half-screaming, half-whispering to not upset the kids, “why can’t you support me a little? Yeah, it’s so fucking easy to side with the kids so that I have to be the bad guy, isn’t it? You’re their parent too, so act like it!”

Pete raises an eyebrow. “Maybe you wouldn’t be the bad guy if you just let us keep the dog.”

Patrick groans in frustration. “Did you not listen to a single word I just said? We can’t just keep a stray dog that we know nothing about, not even if he really is a stray to begin with!”

“We will see,” is all Pete ominously says before he follows the kids to get them ready for the day out in the snow. Patrick stays behind, arms crossed, wondering why he can’t have one nice thing.

 

 

He keeps wondering because next day, the kids try to drag up the topic again.

Lilly looks at Patrick with big eyes – she’s smart, she knows she already has her other dad on her side – and asks: “Daddy, if the dog doesn’t have an owner, can’t we take him home?”

It is really too early in the morning, and Pete is still unwilling to fight on his side, so Patrick says as nicely as possible: “And what makes you think the dog even wants to come with us?”

 

Marley claps his hands, almost knocks over his glass of juice. “The dog likes us!”

 

“You took _me_ in,” David argues stubbornly, “dogs are sensitive! They can feel this kind of stuff! Wolf just knows this is the right family, for sure! Just like I did with you, and you with me!”

It’s still worrying how much their son identifies with this stray dog, and Patrick considers arguing that adoption really doesn't work like that, but decides to skip that for now and say: “Yes, but when we take the dog with us, it will be in a completely different environment, it won’t know the city or our house, it might not like it...”

Marley and Lilly simultaneously shout: “The dog likes us!” Marley goes even further and adds: “I can still draw him on the family picture! Daddy, please?”

“It’s still a puppy,” Pete, that traitor, throws in, “it might get used to the change of environment.”

“We will find the puppy a good home, I promise. We will get him to a good shelter who will take care of him until he finds a nice, new owner.” Patrick glares at his husband, then looks at his expectant kids. “But _we_ are not taking the stray dog home.”

That’s the end of the argument, but when Patrick looks into the four hostile faces of his family, he’s not sure he’s won.

 

 

Later that evening, Patrick finds himself in yet another argument with Pete. The vacation started so good, with cuddles and morning sex, and now they’re fighting over a puppy.

 

“Taking in a dog is a huge responsibility!” Patrick rakes his hand through his thin hair, trying not to scream in frustration over Pete being so goddamn stubborn. “We don’t even know anything about it. Aside from the fact that it’s some crazy Husky mix, and you know that Huskies aren’t easy to deal with! Will you walk the puppy for several hours each day? Play with it? Find it a dog sitter? What if it’s too late to teach it proper behavior, it it’s traumatized? What if it doesn’t like living inside a house, in the city, with three kids and two adults and without being allowed to roam free? And if it doesn’t, are you willing to explain to the kids why we need to give the puppy away? You’re so fucking selfish, Pete! You just wanna take it in because it’s cute and helpless, but it won’t stay small and cute forever.”

“ _I’m_ selfish?!” Pete scoffs, looks at Patrick with anger. “You’re the one who’s selfish! You’re just afraid the dog won’t be perfect and immortal and you’d rather give it away than accept the fact that it might come with some uncomfortable baggage. Jesus, Patrick, I know how hard it sucked to lose the dogs, I was there, but you can’t wallow in self-pity over that forever!”

“Oh, that’s so fucking rich coming from you. Don’t you fucking lecture me about self-pity!”

 

Pete narrows his eyes.

 

That night, Patrick ends up on the couch, angry and miserable.

 

 

Next day, the dog doesn’t show up. All day, the kids keep running to the glass front of the living room, only to be disappointed. Even buying fireworks can’t excite them like it usually does; the atmosphere is loaded with tension, fear, and yesterday’s big fight.

Patrick has called up every local shelter again, he has even allowed Pete to publish a picture and the story of the dog on the Decaydance Twitter. So far, no one seems interested in taking in a local stray puppy, and Patrick’s guilty conscience keeps throbbing in the back of his head. This is not how Patrick imagined his start into the new year at all.

But it only gets worse when on the morning of New Year’s Eve, they all wake of to an ear-piercing shriek of Marley. Patrick, who’s slept on the couch again, is immediately awake and in full-on panic mode as he hears loud sobs and incoherent screams from his six-year old with him in the living room. He practically falls off the couch, puts on his glasses with shaking hands as he looks for his son. Little Marley stands over at the glass windows, shaking and crying, pointing out to the garden. Patrick stumbles over to him, takes his son into his arms, tries to simultaneously calm the poor kid down and look for the source of his distress.

 

“H-hurt,” Marley blurts out between two sobs, “daddy, there’s blood!”

 

“Where!?” Patrick asks with increasing panic, checking his son for any injuries. “Marley, where? Who’s hurt? Are you okay?”

 

Marley points to the garden again. “Wolf!”

 

Patrick takes a step closer, his eyes scanning over the snow-covered landscape, and he almost screams too when he sees it. It’s dawn outside, but even in the gloomy light, the red is a stark contrast against the white snow. There are several patches of it dragging to their veranda, where a brown-golden bundle is surrounded by red snow.

 

The rest of the family runs into the room, with Pete hurrying to Patrick and Marley. “Hey, what’s going on?”

 

Pete answers his own question with a yelp when he looks outside, his eyes falling on the seemingly lifeless little bundle of fur.

 

The next few minutes are a blur. The kids are shouting and crying as they stay behind in the living room while Pete is running out into the garden, followed by Patrick. They’re both in their pajamas, Patrick has grabbed a scarf but is still in his socks, and he can’t bring himself to care as he crouches down next to Pete.

“You think he’s dead?” Patrick whispers with increasing panic in his voice. “Oh God, please, no. I can’t be the dad who killed the puppy. Please, I never wanted this to happen!”

Meanwhile, Pete carefully puts a hand on the dog’s body, and his face lights up. “Patrick, fuck, he’s still breathing! We gotta – we need to take him to the vet!”

For a second, Patrick feels relief, before his practical side takes over. He takes off his scarf, uses it to carefully lift up the injured puppy, then runs back to the living room.

 

“Everybody, get dressed now!” Patrick shouts as he clutches the bleeding puppy to his chest, “we’re getting him to the vet!”

 

The kids run off while Patrick places the puppy on one of the cushions, covers it with his already blood-stained pajama shirt. He washes and dresses himself in record time while Pete keeps watch of the dog and searches for the nearest emergency vet on his phone.

 

 

They don’t even have a proper pet carrier for the poor puppy, so Pete keeps him on his lap with the stained pillow beneath as he directs Patrick towards the clinic. Their three kids sit in the back with grave faces, sensing that it’s best to not cause any more panic or an accident by being loud and distracting. Marley is still crying, comforted by David and Lilly, who’s pressed her lips together and sneakily rubs away a tear or two from her own face every few minutes.

It must be a very weird sight for the receptionist when two middle-aged dads with their three kids and an injured puppy storm into the clinic. Everyone is talking at the same time, the kids now too agitated to keep quiet anymore, but eventually, they’re getting referred to a doctor, who takes one look at the injured dog before rushing it into surgery.

Patrick just signs all the documents about anesthetics and side effects and costs, while Pete gathers the kids to get to the waiting room.

 

The waiting room of a vet clinic – or any clinic for that matter – is not the place Patrick had wanted to spend New Year’s Eve. Gone are the romantic illusions of the whole family having a nice evening with lots of fireworks, homemade food, and no worries.

 

Sitting around and being helpless is not something Patrick, or anyone probably, likes at all. Just before he wonders if it’s possible to quietly implode or excuse himself to the bathroom to shout at the wall in frustration, Pete comes to everyone’s rescue by announcing he’s found a nearby pet store, and they should get supplies. No one protests. Not even Patrick, who usually would have objected buying food, treats, and a pet carrier for an animal he doesn’t want to get too attached to because it might not even survive. Pete leaves his number at the front desk, then ushers the kids into the car. He exchanges a glance with Patrick; there’s nervousness and anger, still. Pete doesn’t call him a puppy killer, but also doesn’t talk to Patrick throughout the entire 20 minute drive to the pet store.

At least it gets them out of the dreadful atmosphere of the vet, and walking around helps, even if it’s just in a giant pet store. Pete takes his hand, shyly almost, and Patrick is very glad for the gesture given their fights and terrible situation. The kids, optimistic and enthusiastic as ever, roam through the store, throwing everything remotely dog-related into the shopping cart: Way too much food, way too many treats, squeaky toys, shampoo, a food bowl, a flea collar, and more toys. Patrick doesn't think, just keeps holding on to Pete’s hand, glad he is momentarily forgiven at least.

They comb through the store twice, before piling up everything on the counter. Patrick swipes his card through without a second thought as Pete and the kids bag everything up.

 

Then, Pete’s phone rings.

 

Patrick thinks he might be ready to throw up.

 

 

Pete answers the call, holding up a hand to signal the kids to stay quiet; Lilly and Marley watch in excitement while David, older and less optimistic, puts on a frown. Patrick is three seconds away from a nervous breakdown.

 

Pete puts down the phone, tears in his eyes as he announces: “Wolf’s alive and well – we can go pick him up!”

 

The drive back to the clinic is full of excited screaming and shouting of the kids, all eager to make plans and promises of taking good care of the injured animal. Patrick on the passenger seat nods absent-mindedly, the new pet carrier on his lap, feeling sheer, utter relief washing over him.

The vet presents them with a very groggy but very much alive little puppy, now wearing a cast on his front left leg; some of his fur has been shaved off for surgery, and there’s a scar on his belly looking fairly gruesome, but they’re assured the dog is doing fine. Patrick nods absent-mindedly again as the vet explains them how to take care of the post-surgery puppy, hands them the painkillers and other meds, and wishes them a happy new year.

“Wait,” the friendly doctor says before they can leave the room, “wasn’t he a stray? You know, we can organize to have him stay in a shelter -”

 

“No,” Patrick interrupts him with a big smile, “actually, we just adopted him.”

 

Back at home, the happiness knows no bounds. Pete and Patrick have a hard time keeping the kids quiet; the poor puppy, despite the anesthetics, is scared enough already.

“Daddy, can we keep him now?!” Lilly asks while she tugs at Patrick’s sweater. Marley joins her, big brown eyes staring at Patrick as he pleads to keep the dog. Pete grins at him, and Patrick smiles back.

“Yes, we can keep him,” Patrick repeats with a happy giggle, any further words drowned out by excited noises as the kids run off to tend to the puppy. David steps up now, all teenage irony and angst traded for a honest smile as he simply says: “Thanks, Dad.”

Patrick can’t help but hug him, joined by Pete, until David gets enough of getting hugged having his hair ruffled by his parents. He trails off to the living room, now hosting the recovering Wolf, and Pete takes Patrick’s hand again.

“I’m sorry,” Patrick mumbles, “I didn’t want to harm the puppy.”

“You tried to be a reasonable adult,” Pete admits with a sigh, “and you didn’t harm the puppy. Maybe he got mauled by someone else’ dog, or by an actual wolf. It doesn’t matter. He came to us for help, and now… Now I guess he joined our family, huh?”

Patrick straightens his back, looks at Pete with all the determination he can muster. “I’m never letting anything bad happen to Wolf ever again.”

Pete laughs, pulls him closer for a sweet kiss to Patrick’s cheek. “You’re the cutest,” he whispers in adoration, “and I promise, if it turns out he doesn’t fit in with our family, we will find him the best home together. I’ll even talk to the kids!”

Now, Patrick laughs too, a few tears of relief burning in his eyes.

 

New Year’s Eve is nothing like anyone would have imagined it; there’s no homemade food, they don’t do any fireworks, no picture-perfect goodbye of the last year.

Instead, they all take turns on watching Wolf, who’s confused, hurting, and scared whenever he hears the fireworks outside. When he’s not whimpering, he’s sleeping, drooling all over his newly-bought dog bed. The kids refuse to leave his side even when there isn’t really much to do, and they’re just having pizza while they sit on the couch, fighting over which film to watch on Netflix. At 11PM, Lilly and Marley have passed out, too tired and exhausted from today’s events. Pete carries them to their beds, and then joins Patrick and David for a quiet countdown into the new year.

 

It’s not at all what Patrick had planned, but such is life, and when he kisses Pete at midnight and they both hug David, Patrick thinks that’s a pretty awesome start into the year.

 

“Thanks,” David says softly afterwards, “I’m still glad you guys had the patience to take in a mutt like me.”

 

“That’s not how adoption works, and you know it,” Patrick scolds him without any malice in his voice.

 

“You were always meant to be part of our family,” Pete says with a gentle smile, “it just took us a while to find you.”

 

David half-scoffs, half-chokes, mumbles something about them being too sentimental, but hugs them again nonetheless. Afterwards, he declares he’ll keep watching the puppy this night, so Pete and Patrick head back to the bedroom.

 

 

“I can sleep in the living room if you want,” Patrick offers nervously, “I’ll tell David I’ll keep watch with him...”

 “Don’t be silly,” Pete mumbles as he sits down on the bed, pats the empty space next to him. “I was overdramatic, too. I hated how helpless I was and how I couldn’t just snap my fingers to rescue the dog, and then you kept being so damn reasonable, and I made you the target of my anger. I’m sorry for letting out my frustrations on you.”

 “Same,” Patrick says with little eloquence, but with sincerity. “Sorry for lashing out at you.”

 Pete shakes his head, cuddles up to him, purring when Patrick slings his arms around him and kisses his forehead.

“I love you,” Pete whispers as he cuddles closer. “And I knew you’d come around on keeping Wolf. I know you’ve got a big heart for misfit mutts.”

“You’ve all got to stop identifying with that word,” Patrick says with a sigh, then kisses Pete again; this time, on the mouth, slow and sweet. “I love you, too,” he whispers afterwards and Pete chuckles, rests his head on Patrick’s shoulder.

 

They’re warm and cozy, the kids are asleep, and a new family member wants to be welcomed in the morning.

 

This year is promising already.

 

***

 

Patrick is sitting in front of the Christmas tree, a toffee-colored bundle of fur in front of him.

 

“Wolf!” Patrick yells through the room. “Come here, buddy, your new friend is here!”

 

A moment later, the Goberian sticks its head through the door frame, careful, yet excited. Pete stands behind him, waving at Patrick, the kids, and their newest family member: An equally excited little Collie puppy that only barely manages to follow the order to sit and not rush off.

 They’ve introduced Wolf and the new Collie before, they’ve gone through several meetings at the park, their garden, and now, it’s time to let the two of them meet at home. Wolf takes another moment to sniff, realizes it’s a familiar smell from a dog he already knows, then storms towards to puppy to greet it with more excited sniffing, friendly barks, and a wagging tail.

With relief, Patrick sits back, now joined by Pete, as the kids run off with the two dogs to play in the garden.

 

“Well done,” Pete says with a grin, then kisses Patrick on the cheek. “Look at them go. They’re friends already!”

 

Patrick laughs, watches through the glass door how David, Lilly and Marley try to teach the Collie to fetch, supported by a tail-wagging, barking Wolf. The Husky-hybrid grew up to be even weirder looking, with his colorful fluffy fur, the piercing blue eyes, the big ears; he’s strange and majestic and Patrick wouldn’t have him any other way.

The Collie looks a bit more conventional, but he’s friendly and open-minded and he’s great with both the kids and Wolf. Everyone has already fallen in love with him first time they set eyes upon him in the shelter, and everyone has unanimously agreed to take him home.

And everyone has agreed that the only acceptable name for the little Collie will be “Sheep”.

 

At the end of Christmas Day, everyone and everything is covered in grass stains and mud; after lots of cleaning, some hot chocolate, and an obligatory watching of Nightmare Before Christmas, the kids are off to bed, while Pete and Patrick find themselves on the couch with two tired-out dogs.

 

Pete has changed into tacky Christmas pajamas, matching the ones he made Patrick wear, despite their older kids’ protest about them being embarrassing. He holds out his arm, and Patrick leans in, head resting on Pete’s chest. Sheep wiggles his way into Patrick’s arms, while Wolf rests on Pete’s lap. The house is silent, kids asleep, dogs snoring, the lights on the Christmas tree giving everything a soft glow. Life can be so beautiful.

Patrick feels himself nod off; Pete kisses his forehead, mumbles something that sounds like goodnight, Patrick isn’t sure. But what he knows is that his heart is full of love, and that whatever the new year might bring, he’s ready to face it.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, everyone! Don't forget to check out the orther amazing stories in this collection, and give your local Peterick writers a great gift by leaving a little comment!~  
> Maybe donate to your local animal shelter, they could use some help this time of the year when hundreds of Christmas gift pets will get abandoned when irresponsible owners find out how much time and effort a pet requires. 
> 
> I have a whole story planned about how Pete and Patrick adopt David into their family, and maybe one day, I'll write it if there's more interest in this AU! 
> 
> For now, I wish you all a merry Christmas, happy holidays, a peaceful time and a happy new year! May 2019 hold the best of health, luck, and Peterick for all of us. <3


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